Winter Word Vault Contest (as seen in WBQ 35)

Our daring experts have ventured into the murky depths of the Vault of Words again to retrieve potential treasures. Some might be gems, others mere fool’s gold. Take these treasures of our language and breathe life into them once more.

Rules:

Entries

Members are allowed one entry in the Word Vault Flash Fiction Contest. You are required to use at least one of the words from the Word Vault, (duplicated for your convenience below). Entries should be submitted as posts to this thread. The competition is open to all members of Writer’s Beat, including staff.

Members are requested to refrain from commenting on entries in this posting thread. Please use the Winter Contest Comment thread instead. That thread will remain open throughout the posting period and afterwards, and members are encouraged to let entrants know what they thought of their entries.

Word Limits:

250 words maximum

Edits:

Once an entry has been submitted, it cannot be altered. Any work that is edited after it has been entered will be disqualified. If you feel you need to make a small alteration (a misplaced comma, a spelling error), contact a member of staff. If we feel your request is reasonable, we will make the correction on your behalf.

Close Date:

30th of December 2012, 12 midnight GMT

Judging:

After the closing date, we (the Staff) will select a winner to be published in the next issue of Writer’s Beat Quarterly, assuming permission is given when we contact the winner.

jazel (n): Gem of blue to azure hue from Southeast Asia.
Example: The brooch was fitted with several wonderfully cut jazels; it reminded her of the sea she loved.

rive (v): 1. To split or cleave apart.
2. Technique in woodworking for splitting wood radially from a log.
From riven (Middle English/North Germanic), from Old Norse rífa (tear apart).
Example: The Master showed the apprentice how to rive the log, again.

sike (n Ditch or stream that dries out in summer.
From Old English sīċ of Germanic origin.
Example: Eddy was glad it would be summer soon, then he would wake up in a dry sike, after the weekly night at the pub, instead.

The class room was cold, New York City winter winds were coming through the large windows of the old school house.Vasily finished packing everything into his backpack and looked at the last book, a worn out copy of "English as a Second Language" a tear came into his eye, this was such a good country, the land of opportunities.He walked to his small railroad flat on the lower Eastside,snowflakes started to fall,he struck out his tongue and let a few flakes land on it, he realized the importance of enjoying life's every little pleasure.After he opened the door of his apartment, the first thing he did was to put the oven on, to warm the place up.On the kitchen table was a brown envelope,just where he had keft it before going to school.He opened it and studied the photograph closely; dark brown eyes, cunning, alert, plotting.The face was very old,wrinkles on wrinkles, the skin looked like thin gray parchment."This man is wizened",stated Vasily proudly,it was a word that he had just learned in schoolthat day.He looked at the address on the back of the photo, took out his glock pistol and put it into the waistband of his trousers.Smiling as he prepared to leave the house once more,he knew deep in his heart that this was indeed the land of opportunities

"A little girl was walking through the border between reality and a mirror. Her legs were trembling and her steps unstable, and part of her was awfully scared, but her brave side insisted on going on until the end.
Not a long moment passed until she reached it – a huge, weathered wizened tree. The little girl watched it carefully and, distressed, started to cry.
“Calm down, child. Why are you crying?” said the wizened tree with a soothing voice.
“I… *sob* I’m growing up, and I want to be a kid forever!” said the little girl, pointing at reality.
“But you are still a child, there is nothing to worry about” the wizened tree said, looking at itself and its badly shaped body, and then turning around to see the image of reality the girl was pointing at.
“B, but I’ll grow up, a, a… and I’ll continue to grow up until I’m a withered-weathered-wizened old cat lady woman!”
“The full moon’s the same, you know? Its glow is duller from time to time, but the full moon never changes from the inside - and still is as beautiful as she was since the beginning.”
The little girl turned her head to see the full moon in its entire splendor. Then she turned her head to the other side and saw it reflected on a lake, still bright, still beautiful. She suddenly stopped crying.
The girl hugged the tree as hard as she could, and proceeded to run to reality."

[a little comment on the story. If you don't wanna read the comment, move ahead! ]: 'Sleepy Sabrina and the Menacing Death' much, huh? He he. This story was made with the intention of giving a feeling a bit darker than my usual, but then I screwed it up and ended up writing a happy ending . As with my Sleepy Sabrina story, the protagonist is a little girl - something I hope won't happen again anytime soon! Anyways, right now I'm writing a story that happens in the border between dreams and reality, so I thought it would be fun to make a similar story, but with the mirror theme from the Winter Contest. Most of it was improvisation, and I had to cut out some stuff to get it under the 250 words limit (the story, in fact, has 250 words), so be warned it might not read all that good. I hope you enjoy it!

__________________
"I had a yellow cat.
He watched me grow up, and I watched him grow old."
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